


steal me all the way from myself

by StoriesofmyLife



Series: IceMav Prompts [2]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Ice just wants Mav to be okay, IceMav, M/M, Mav is hurting and Ice wants to help, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: His whole life, all he’d wanted to do was fly.His dad used to say that being up in the sky was closest thing they had to Heaven and the plane was closest thing to wings that he’d ever have.Maverick had never been afraid of flying.Until today.Written for Carly's prompt: Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other's hand
Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Series: IceMav Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604257
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	steal me all the way from myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecarlysutra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/gifts).



> A simple 'what if Ice had followed Maverick after he says to Sundown "I will fire when I'm goddamn good and ready, you got that?"' his little longing look in the end of the that scene gets me every time. 
> 
> To thecarlysutra: I promise the one you actually asked for is coming. This story was actually supposed to be it, but it took on a new direction and well, I actually finished it and I'm pretty proud of it. The one you asked for should be up tomorrow or Monday, at the latest, I've already started writing it. 
> 
> This is a lot angstier than I usually post, but I haven't been in the mindset to write my usual flirty and sexy Icemav. I've been dealing a lot with my mental health and this was actually therapeutic to write and something I've tried to write a few times but I could never get the tone or the words right, until now. 
> 
> Thank you guys for sticking by me while I work through this stuff and I promise I'll be back for more the further on the edge, the hotter the intensity. I'm having way too much fun writing that to give it up.
> 
> Please forgive any spelling errors or grammar issues, I did edit, but I also post my works late at night and I might've missed a few things.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The world is spinning in a haze of technicolor and Maverick swears he can feel his racing heartbeat all the way down to the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. He’s shaking with it, hands trembling as he claws desperately at the neck of his flight suit, feeling too constrained and he just wants out of it. 

_Out of all of it._

The flight suit, the program. Away from the prying eyes and the stares and the whispers. He wants to jump on his bike and ride until he runs out of gas and hopefully, away from the memories and the nightmares and the pity and the _“I’m sorry”_ at every turn _._

He can feel himself unraveling, spiraling out of control with no chance of recovery and he just wants to crash already. Get it over and done with. 

Maverick slams into the locker room, throwing his flight gear into his locker, not caring that his helmet and bag land with a loud _crash_ that reverberates through the room like thunder. He unties his boots hastily, tossing them down on the floor with his gear. Desperate fingers claw at the zipper of his flight suit and he all but rips it off, along with his undershirt that’s soaked with sweat and the bitter smell of fear. 

He stalks to the shower, turning the water on as hot it will go and he steps into the shower stall without a care, his skin giving an immediate protest when the scalding water meets it. He welcomes it, relishing in the pain, because it distracts him from the ache in his chest and the anger and frustration reaching a crescendo in his mind. 

Goose has only been gone for three days and everyone keeps pushing him to move on like nothing happened. Like Maverick didn’t have to hold Goose’s dead body in his arms as the sea raged around both of them. Like he didn’t have to deliver the rest of his belongings to his widowed wife and three year old son who didn’t know what it meant that daddy wasn’t coming home. Like Goose was just his RIO and not the only family Maverick had ever known. 

His whole life, all he’d wanted to do was fly. To know what it was like to soar through the clouds and be close enough to reach out and touch them. He wanted clear, open skies and the speed and the exhilaration of knowing that it was up to him and only him, to get back to ground.

His dad used to say that being up in the sky was closest thing they had to Heaven and the plane was closest thing to wings that he’d ever have. 

Maverick had never been afraid of flying. But today, when he’d been up there, all he could think about was the flame out. The sound of his own panic and Goose trying to calm him down, the feeling of being out of control and spiraling towards a messy end. The sick sound of Goose’s body hitting the canopy. The absolute horror and anguish of seeing Goose’s lifeless body floating in the waves, the sea tainted a stomach wrenching red from his blood. 

His hands shook and his heart raced and he knew, now, what Cougar meant about holding on too tight. Why he turned in his wings. 

Maverick had never been afraid of flying.

_Until today_

And he felt the weight of that fear to his core. 

He punches the wall in frustration and anger, white hot rage at the unfairness of it all crashing over him like a tidal wave and he was afraid he was going to drown in it. He beat the wall, over and over again and in the back of his mind, he registered the pain of split knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the grief and anguish he felt boiling under the surface of his skin. Over the pounding of the water, he could hear an agonized scream and he wondered who it was and it wasn’t until he heard a shout of his name that he realized, the sound was coming from _him._

Someone was turning the water off. Someone was yanking him out of the water, wrapping him in a towel and pushing him down on the bench and someone steadied him when he threatened to fall over from the sudden wave of exhaustion that coursed through his body. 

“Maverick, it’s okay, you’re here, you’re safe—“ 

He could feel the pounding of his heart, the sharp sounds of his uneven breathing, his knuckles throbbed and his skin felt like it was on fire. 

“Hey, Mitchell, can you hear me? I need you to focus on me—“

The room felt hot, too small and confined and he felt like he couldn’t _breathe_. He felt too hot and too cold at the same time and his body began to shiver.

“ _MAVERICK!”_

The voice cracks like a whip through the room and echoed through Maverick’s brain. He jumped, startled and warm hands settled on his shoulders, steadying him, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of the abyss.

“Easy,” the voice murmurs, voice gentle, calm, “take it easy, Mav. I got you.”

Maverick could smell pine and sweat, jet fuel and fresh, open skies—

He blinks harshly, the room coming back into focus. The first thing he sees is blue eyes staring at him with cool indifference that’s barely hiding the concern that threatens to break through the mask of calm.

He can feel the weight of Ice’s warm palms on his stiff and no doubt, burned skin and Maverick unconsciously leans into it, seeking the heat and comfort.

“Hey,” Ice says, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the skin of his upper arms. The motion is nice and Maverick wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it, “you’re going to be okay.”

It’s the wrong thing to say and Maverick can clock the exact moment that Ice realizes it, too.

Anger swells up in Maverick, hot and unbridled and he yanks himself out of Ice’s grip, almost stumbling backwards over the bench in his haste to get away. 

“ _Nothing_ is going to be okay,” Maverick snarls and if he wasn't so goddamn _angry_ , he would’ve been amused at the way Ice recoils from him, like he was scared of him, even though Maverick was at least a good few inches shorter and nowhere near as muscled and therefore, nowhere near threatening, “don’t you people get that? Goose is _gone_ , he’s dead and I’m so fucking _sick_ of everyone to telling that it’s going to be okay, that I’m going to be okay, well I’m fucking _not okay.”_

He swipes angrily at the tears that have escaped his eyes and he wonders, vaguely, when he started crying. He can’t even bring himself to care that he’s crying in front of Ice, of all people. That he’s letting Ice see him this wrecked and out of control. And Ice is just standing there, with his arms crossed, watching him fall apart and shred at the seams.

_He doesn't fucking care anymore._

“He wasn’t just my RIO,” Maverick continues, voice shaking with anger and hurt, “He was my brother and he’s fucking _gone._ He was all I had, the only family I had—“ he chokes back a sob, “and now Carole is alone and Bradley will never—fuck, it should’ve been _me.”_

He shakes his head, gripping his hair in frustration, “It’s been three fucking days and everyone thinks that I’m just supposed get over it as if—as if—“ 

“As if what, Mitchell?” Ice demands, voice soft, but it does nothing to temper the hardness, “As if you didn’t kill Goose? As if the accident wasn't your fault?” Ice’s voice is mocking and a fresh wave of anger rolls over Maverick. 

“Fuck you,” Maverick spits, voice shaking. 

“What’s the matter, Mitchell?” Ice continues, taking a step closer, eyes glinting dangerously, “you aren’t man enough to admit that you killed Goose, that he’s dead because of you? That you cared more about a trophy than your RIO’s life? That Goose’s wife is now a widow and they’re child is without a dad all because of your need to prove something—“

Like a rubber band being stretched too far, Maverick can feel the exact moment that something inside him _snaps_ and all the hurt and the anger and the frustration boils over and he’s up and over the bench and in Ice’s space, his arm rearing back and his fist connecting to Ice’s stupidly chiseled jaw.

He doesn’t hear the snap of a bone breaking or feel the flare of pain in his right hand, not with the roar of blood in his ears or the feeling of sick satisfaction at a well landed hit. He can only revel in it for a second before Ice has him pressed up against the locker’s, both of his wrists bound in a vice like grip and trapped against Ice’s body. 

“Let go of me, asshole,” Maverick snaps, wiggling his body, trying to break free of Ice’s hold, but it only makes Ice press against him harder, tightening his grip on Maverick’s wrists. 

“Now Mave _rick,”_ Ice says, tone condescending and goading all at once, “I think you and I both know that I can’t do that, not until you man up and admit what we both know.”

“Fuck you,” Maverick says angrily, bucking his body wildly, but Ice just holds on and it only serves to infuriate him more. 

“C’mon, Mave _rick,”_ Ice murmurs in his ear and Maverick can smell the metallic tang of blood mixed with sweat and Ice’s cologne and it satisfies Maverick that Ice won’t be leaving here unscathed, “just say it. Here, I’ll help you, okay? Repeat after me, ‘I killed Goose, it’s my fault he’s dead—‘“

“ _I didn’t kill him_ ,” Maverick snarls, shoving out of Ice’s hold and Ice let’s him go without a fight, but Maverick is too enraged to notice.

He rounds on Ice and he barely refrains from punching him again when he sees the smirk on Ice’s lips, only marred by the split lip, “It’s not my fault he’s dead, I would never hurt him or put him in danger, it was an _accident,_ I didn’t kill Goose—“

He stops short, his brain catching up with his words and it feels like wind has been knocked out him, like a sucker punch right to the gut. The words reverberate in his brain, over and over like a mantra. 

_I didn’t kill Goose, not my fault, I didn’t kill Goose, not my fault, IdidntkillGoosenotmyfault—_

“I didn’t kill him,” Maverick says, voice barely above a whisper, “it wasn’t—it wasn't my fault.”

The words are a hopeful realization and they’re only confirmed when he meets Ice’s calm gaze, who just nods his head, confirming what Maverick knew, subconsciously, all along. And while it doesn’t lessen the grief of losing his best friend or take the ache in his chest away, it makes the weight that’s been on his shoulders a little lighter, a little easier to bear. 

The relief he feels threatens to send him to his knees, but warm hands catch him before he can fall, pressing him against the cool metal of the lockers and the warmth of Ice’s chest. His hands are a reassuring weight on Maverick’s waist, grounding him and pulling him back, once again, from the abyss of anger and grief that had threatened to pull him under and drown him. Maverick leans into it, letting Ice take some of his weight and hedoes, pulling Maverick closer, letting him absorb some of his strength and assurance. 

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Ice says, voice soft, “but you _will_ come back from this, maybe not the same person you once were,” Ice adds when Maverick opens his mouth to protest, “but you’ll be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, you’ll be able to think of him and it won’t hurt so much. It won’t feel so big and all consuming. It will just be _there,_ a scar from an old wound.”

Ice’s gaze roams over Maverick’s shoulders, to his black and blue knuckles, before he meets Maverick eyes and the look in his eyes is stormy, “But you’re not going to get there by doing _this,”_ He gestures with a nod of his head to the spots on Maverick’s body that are throbbing like a _sonofabitch_ now that the adrenaline has left his body “to yourself, go it? This doesn’t solve anything.”

Maverick swallows, “I just got so—so _angry_ and I just couldn’t—“

_Control it. Wanted to hurt something, even if it was myself._

He doesn't say the words but Ice understands it, can see it in the way that he tilts his head, as if he’s hearing the thoughts straight from Maverick’s own head. 

“It still doesn't solve anything,” Ice reiterates, voice stern, but it gentles when he takes in Maverick chagrinned expression, “Find some other way to channel your anger that doesn't involve hurting yourself or someone else.” 

Ice brushes his thumb gently over Maverick’s right hand—the one that hurts the most and the one he’s sure is more than likely broken—the touch feather light, assessing the damage. 

“You might want to get this looked at,” Ice says when Maverick barely conceals a wince when Ice’s thumb running over the worst of it. The skin is so purple, it’s almost black and swollen to the point where Maverick isn't sure where his finger actually starts or ends. 

Maverick opens his mouth to reply, but it dies on his lips when Ice brings his hand to Ice’s lips, where he brushes a soft, tender kiss to the injured area. His lips are plush and warm and they feel like heaven on Maverick’s bruised skin. 

He wants to feel them _everywhere._

Cool blue meet Maverick’s eyes from underneath pale blonde lashes and he swallows heavily, a mixture of arousal and warmth blooming through his body and he can feel himself flush. Ice’s eyes trace the flush on Maverick’s chest, eyes hungry and wanting, which reminds Maverick of the fact that he’s only wearing a towel, that’s somehow managed to stay on despite their little tussle, and nothing else underneath it. 

The realization makes him flush even deeper and Ice chuckles, the heat of his breath brushing teasingly over Maverick’s tingling hand and he fights tooth and nail to not get _too_ worked up over it. 

Ice kissed his _hand._

His _hand,_ for fucksakes. 

And if he was reacting this way, over feeling Ice kissing his _fucking_ hand, he might spontaneously combust if he feels Ice’s lips somewhere, _anywhere,_ else.

“Get dressed,” Ice commands gently, pulling away, “We can swing by the infirmary, get your hand looked at and then I’ll drive you home.”

Maverick nods dumbly and Ice smirks, bringing attention to his lips and any thoughts of how those lips would feel on other parts of his body, fade into the background when Maverick’s eyes zero in on the rather nasty looking split lower lip Ice was sporting, courtesy of Maverick’s fist. Without thinking, Maverick lifts his uninjured hand to cup Ice’s jaw, carefully tilting his head to get a better look.

His jaw was bruised, a mottling of purple and green marring his tan skin and his lower lip was split and swollen, flushed an angry red. It looked painful and Maverick felt guilt swell in his gut at the thought of hurting Ice, when he knows now that Ice was only trying to help him. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” Maverick murmurs, sweeping his thumb gently over the least painful looking area, meeting Ice’s eyes. 

“Not God, just Ice,” Ice says teasingly, eyes a warm sapphire, “And don’t worry, I’ll let you kiss it better later.” He adds with a wink. 

Maverick huffs a shocked laugh, feeling warm and weightless and genuinely happy for the first time in three days and it feels like a beginning, the start of something… _good_. _Scary_ , but good.

Some of the teasing fades from Ice’s eyes and he regards Maverick a little bit more seriously, “I deserved it,” Ice says, voice soft and Maverick can hear the guilt, the apology, “Some of the things I said—“

Maverick shakes his head, cutting him off, “Don’t worry about it, I—“ he pauses, considering, “I needed that. To understand, to make it…real.” 

He shrugs and tries for a smile, “If you can’t tell, I’m a little hard headed.”

Ice chuckles and a shiver goes down Maverick’s spine at the sound of it, “Yeah, I noticed that.”

“You read me well,” Maverick admits and it’s both a statement and a question. 

“I just pay attention,” Ice counters with a self-deprecating shrug, cheeks flushing red and Maverick didn’t think it was possible for Ice to be even more beautiful, but even a broken clock is right twice a day and really, he should know better. Iceman Kazansky was the exception to every rule, it seems. 

“C’mon,” Ice says, nudging Maverick in direction of his locker, “we need to get that hand looked at. I want to win because I’m the better pilot, not because you got taken out of commission because you don’t know how to throw a punch.”

Maverick rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the smile as he dresses and follows Ice out of the locker room and towards the infirmary.

(His hand ends up being broken and despite putting up a protest, the doctor wraps it instead of casting it, because Maverick refuses to sit out for the rest of the competition because of a few broken fingers. He won’t give Ice the satisfaction. The doctor also gives Maverick some burn cream for his shoulders, which were a toasty red from the scalding hot water of the shower and Ice rubs it into his shoulders later that night, kissing each shoulder when he’s done, like he’s encouraging them to heal. 

Ice kisses Maverick, too. Before he curls around him and falls asleep. When he wakes up to Maverick’s cries of Goose’s name in the middle of the night. After he’s been awake for an hour and he watches over Maverick as he slowly transition from sleep to wake, greeting him with a gentle press of his lips to Maverick’s sleep warm lips.

It’s a new beginning and a reminder that Maverick will heal eventually, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
